


#MadLove Moments

by SmutWithPlot



Series: Patient Files: The Joker [2]
Category: DCU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:41:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5037823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of moments, domestic and otherwise, between Joker and Harley Quinn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> This particular scene takes place at a time when Joker is (however temporarily) not incarcerated at Arkham, yet is after they hook up, but before she dons her persona as Harley Quinn and busts him out of Arkham and loses her job. She's just come home from a day at the asylum, and invites him over for dinner at her house -- an actual home that she owns that shows up repeatedly, that he is never completely comfortable living in. Because he knows his own violent, destructive nature, and wants her to keep a place of her own, away from him, even if she keeps inviting him over. I think scenes like this are what really brings home her -need- to get him "cured" and certainly that it's better to quit her job and be with him on the outside, because he "deserves" a "real life" instead of being locked in there all the time. But hey, the girl's delusional! It makes sense from her perspective.
> 
> Sidenote: I actually got the inspiration for this scene with my wife, because she's a school teacher and... had a lot of sick kids at work that day, heh. Truth in fiction.

It was nice to just sink into the couch, and melt into his arms after a long day of work. “Bunch of sick patients at work today.”

“Hmm. Something going around?” His fingers teased at her skin, warm and soft, and he felt relaxed... Contented.

“Judging by the foamy vomit? Yeah, must be some sort of stomach bug. One vomited. One had a rash. Another was running a fever. You'd _think_  maybe one of the nurses would have caught them before bringing them into my office to contaminate the place...” Simply talking about work got her worked up and stressed, until those fingers of his touch her and she calms. “That place...is goin' downhill, Puddin'...”

He chuckled. “You think far too highly of your compatriots, my dear. The place is severely overbooked and understaffed. Most of the people working there are overworked and underpaid. Most of them are burnt out. It's too much for them. And the patients suffer. But, hey. We're the dregs of society. No one really cares. That's just the way things are. It's too costly to change, and so, it never shall.”

His words actually hurt a little. Imagining him in the asylum with nobody to care about him. Not noticing if he's sick and needs medical attention. She frowns and rests her head on his shoulder. “Puddin'... Why do you like goin' back there if you're not treated well? I mean, sure, you have a reputation there... But in there, you're viewed as a menace. Someone that society should forget about... But I know you're more than that. You don't _belong_  there. You belong here...” She wrapped her arms around him. Completely delusional, but not realizing it. He was insane. A killer and more. But she was so blinded by the love she had for him that he was her angel. An angel didn't belong in a place so uncaring. So unpleasant.

He sighed... feeling a burst of brutal honesty wanting out for the night. “...Well, sweets. Believe it or not, it's the only place they don't call me _crazy_. It's rude, see. Because we're all crazy in there. And no one says, ‘You should be somewhere else’, because I'm already in the madhouse. Everyone knows me there. It's my own little world. Something consistent. Food, shelter, entertainment if I behave. I mean, the drugs suck like hell, but they keep some of the demons away. The worst of them, anyway. And I'm respected by my peers. People look up to me there. Plus...” His fingers toyed with her hair. “There are _some_  people that try to help. People like you. They listen, even if they don't understand. They guess at me and give up after a while, but some of them _do_  mean well. Hopelessly naive as that is.” He looked to her with a small smile. “It's a home, flawed and cruel as it is. Saddest part is, I don't have anywhere else I belong, but there.”

She felt her bottom lip quiver, trying to keep her tears to herself as he speaks the way he does. She never thought of the asylum in _that_  light. He definitely opened up her eyes in that manner. But still, it pained her to hear that the asylum was the only place he felt he belonged. Why not here with her? She had to ask. “...But you _could_  belong here, if you wanted to. I wouldn't mind...”

“Mm. You say that. But what about when we're fighting, hmm? This is _your_  home. This is your sanctuary. We all need our own little sanctuary. I have the asylum. You have this place.” He looked around at the strange museum, the space she's made for herself. A simpler life that he could never have. “I don't belong here. In this... domestic living situation. Maybe in another life, but not anymore. I'll have a bad day and just…” He gestured with his hand, mimicking an explosion. “...Poof. Gone.” He looked to her. “I keep my safehouses and work spaces expendable, because I know how I am. I give you this space, because I know how completely wretched I am to live with, and you need your own space. Hell, I'm encroaching being here. I can't stay.” He took her hand and gave it a kiss. “But... You're welcome to follow me around, from rat-infested hellhole to roach-infested pigsty. But I won't force you. That's your choice.”


	2. Fifty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewarning: BDSM ahead. The fine line between abuse and kink is 1) consent and 2) aftercare. And she has both! And a safeword that she's not using, I might add. The ONLY reason I can think of as to why Harley can endure all of his abuses and still -adore- him is if he has AMAZING aftercare. And he does feel some care and affection for her, much as he wants to deny it. She is a weakness, an addiction that he can't quite quit, even though she quits him quite often. She lets him do it, and he adores her all the more for it.

SCHMACK!

She squealed! High on her tippy-toes, a pose she could keep for hours from ballet and gymnastics, it felt almost natural. Fingers wrapped tight around the rope that was raw on her skin, holding her high and upright.

"I don't hear you counting."

"Th-thirty seven."

SCHMACK!

She cried out again! She bit her lip, a muffled sob. "Th-thirty eight."

"Come on, baby. You wanna hit 50 today."

SCHMACK!

"AH!" She protested, stomping on those little toes, hopping, soft, raw flesh gleaming like moonlight. "Oh, god...!"

" _Counting_."

"Yeah, jus..." The _pain_. It was electric, there, and yet _everywhere_. She took a breath. "38."

SCHMACK!

Another squeal, and she let out a keening whine... It hurt so much... But she was so _close_...

"I'm waiting."

"FUCK you!"

He grabbed her hair, pulling her back, and she gasped. Dark brown eyes met sparkling blue. "You watch that language, missy." This time the belt hits her in the front, and she _screams_.

"THIRTY NINE! IT'S THIRTY NINE!" She lets out strangled sobs as she prances in place. "God, I hate you!"

"Yeah yeah... I know."

SCHMACK!

She screams! "AH!" Behind her, she could hear his own harsh exhale. His shadow on the floor, mingling with hers as he ran a hand through his hair, fighting to keep his own calm. She sobs again, a little "ohohohoho..." that shakes her chest. He reaches out to stroke a breast, and she catches her breath.

"Come on, baby. Count for me." His voice is a soft purr in her ear, and he kisses her cheek, soft fingers a sweet touch at odds with his bite.

She whimpers... "It's forty. Forty out of fifty."

"You're almost there.”

SCHMACK!

She cries out! She bites her lip again, tasting the blood on her tongue, as she sobs again...

"Come on, baby... You're almost there."

"Ohhh..." It hurt... But she was _almost there_. Just a little longer... "41."

SCHMACK!

GASP! "42!"

SCHMACK! SCHMACK! SCHMACK! SCHMACK!

It's a high-pitched shriek as he abuses her body, and all she can do is _take it_. "OH MY _GOD!_ OH MY GOD!" She's on _fire_ , the pain, electric, red and yellow and hate and love, and she screams, "46! Oh my god!"

SCHMACK! SCHMACK! She can hear him panting, too.

"48!" She gasps, the _pain_... So close! Almost there!

SCHMACK! "Come on, baby..."

She bites back the sobs. "49!"

SCHMACK!

She barks a laugh, a brilliant smile on her face. "FIFTY! Oh my god, Puddin', I did it! FIFTY!"

Leather and belt hit the floor, and his arms are around her, the harsh denim of jeans against her raw and sore ass, but his hands are warm as they move over her cold and naked skin, and he plants feverish kisses all over her neck.

"Oh god... You did it, baby. Jesus..." He nips at an earlobe, and she leans into him, feeling light-headed, and _glorious_. "I'm so fucking proud of you..."

"I did good, baby?" Her voice is a light sing-song.

"You did _amazing_..." Her lover's hands move up to her own, and she watches with glee as he unties her. She collapses into his ready embrace, body weak, but heart full and mind racing with excitement. He wraps a blanket around her, and she's the _happiest_ little girl in the world...

"Oh, baby girl... You were _amazing_. You were beautiful..."

She turns her head, and the kisses move from her head and her cheek to her lips, and they stay there, long and sweet and wet... She curls into him, a hand moving to his jaw, the red braids of rope burned into her skin... _But I did it._ Gentle, careful hands move over her body, one feather soft over the red, welted flesh, making it tingle and alive. She gasps into his lips, and he swallows it, taking her again. She moans as she melts into his embrace, and a shivering hand moves around her leg, caressing her skin and then...

She gasps again as delicate fingers find wet. She bites her lip and whimpers as one long digit slides in. She looks up at him, his face dark with want and adoration, as he pleasures her, and her hands are claws on his shoulders.

"You did so good, baby... I'll make you feel _good_ now..."

And he does. His fingers do magick to her, so that when he lies her down on the cold warehouse floor, a meager blanket keeping her from the cold, the pain is blissful and sweet as he makes love to her. _Fifty... I did it!_


End file.
